Sadie Cain

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since the two of you shared the same bed. You’d stayed behind in Brooklyn while Bucky traveled across the world to a classified location along the Asian coastline. However, the moment he returned, all that mattered was that he was okay and with you once again.

The last of Bucky’s laughter dwindled as you caressed his bare skin with your fingertips. As he laid on his back, you were curled into his side, tucked beneath his right arm as if you were a treasure. The sheets were settled around both of your waists. There was a new scar he’d received in the time he was away. It was a result of someone wielding a thin blade. It was already well into the healing process, and appeared as nothing more than a faint, red line running diagonally a little ways above his belly button.

You traced it with a gentle brush of your finger. When you looked at his face for any indication of it possibly paining him, you found that his eyes were closed. There was no furrow between his brows.

The room was dim, only illuminated by the lamps sitting on both nightstands. You considered moving to turn them off, figuring he was ready to go to sleep. But a quiet sound of protest left him as soon as your body shifted away.

Upon directing your attention back to him, you found that his eyes were open and watching you. There was a glimmer within them that attested to his desire to stay up a while longer.

Smiling briefly, you settled back into your previous spot and pressed a kiss to his pec. “Not sleepy yet?” You asked.

Instead of answering, Bucky took your hand and placed it back over his stomach in silent encouragement.

“What?” There was a note of teasing to your tone.

“Please,” he said just above a whisper. “I’ve missed your touch.” The honesty woven between the lines of those words resonated. There was always such a delicate way in which your hands moved over Bucky’s body, and he always relished the feeling. You touched him as though he were fragile when, considering his physicality, that was miles away from the truth.

But that tenderness was something he craved.

When he was with you, the dynamics were much different than they were in the world outside. Other people often piled baggage on him the second they found out he could bear more than they could; expecting him to pull them from the holes they found themselves within, and crowning him as defender against those rising against them.

He was the strong one. He was the one who could take it all on his shoulders.

Not for a second did Bucky mind making those sacrifices if it meant saving lives and renewing hope. That’s what drove like a moth to a raging flame. But it felt good to let his guard down and allow himself to be vulnerable, and to receive.

At the feeling of your fingertips starting to venture once more, Bucky closed his eyes again. They remained that way even when you repositioned to begin placing featherlight kisses down his chest and to his stomach, his skin warm under your lips. You could feel his muscles reacting in small twitches, and could hear the way his breaths had grown deeper and less steady.

And, eventually, he could no longer resist the desire to pay that same level of attentiveness to you.

If there were words to express how good it felt for you two to have each other again, perhaps you would’ve used them all. But, instead, you continued showing each other through your actions as the night progressed. Allowing yourselves to read the unspoken language of each other’s bodies.

The following morning harbored a nice breeze. As you and Bucky sat out on the fire escape, eating breakfast, the sounds of your block ascended upwards as if welcoming him back. The two of you were sitting in two chairs with a small, round table in between. Bucky’s hair was disheveled, which made him appear even more attractive in the early light of the sun. After the previous night, you felt as though you loved him even more.

He wore a black hoodie and a pair of gray shorts. And you wore a similar outfit, having opted for his clothes instead of your own. It’s what you’d been doing during the time he was away—wearing his clothes whenever you were lounging around the house.

As you gazed out at the cityscape, what you weren’t expecting was to see him raise his phone from the corner of your eye.

When you turned to face him, the sight of the device, paired with the warmth and kindness of his intent gaze, made a sudden wave of bashfulness wash over you. “What are you doing?” You asked, unable to keep your smile from growing.

“Trying to capture the moment.” There was an innocence to his tone. “Unless you don’t want me to,” he continued, swiftly tucking his phone back into the pocket of his hoodie. “You look beautiful, doll. Really.”

That made you laugh. “Thank you. I just… I don’t know… I’m not very photogenic in the mornings,” you said, half joking.

Bucky chuckled and shrugged. “Alright. No pictures then,” he promised—but it was one he didn’t keep.

Another instance arose in which you looked away from him, pointing out a plane in the distance. That’s when the soft sound of an unmuted shutter arose.

“Hey!” You playfully narrowed your eyes at him. Bucky hadn’t even bothered to lower his phone. “Are you taking a picture of me? You said you wouldn’t.”

His shoulders shook in a laugh, but then he offered his hand for you to take by resting it face up on the table. When you accepted it, he ran his thumb back and forth over your knuckles. “You happen to be very photogenic in the mornings. It’ll be for my eyes only, pretty girl.”

That assurance didn’t stop you from sneaking his phone, and carting it into the bathroom when the two of you finished up with breakfast.

When you pulled up the camera roll, however, the small urge you had to delete the picture vanished. As you started scrolling, you realized that the album wasn’t littered with random photos and screenshots in the same way that yours often was. Each of his pictures were purposeful and meaningful. They were either of him, you, or scenery from his travels that he took with the intent to show you. No random images from the internet. No accidental shots of the ground or fingers.

Bucky’s camera roll was only a documentation of what he cared about the most. Meaning, the pictures of you were likely what he admired in the time you were apart. There was no way you could take that away from him.

A sudden knock made you jump.

“Open the door. I know you have my phone.” You could hear the amusement in his voice.

Upon opening it, you delivered a little poke to his ribcage that made him curl in on himself a bit because it tickled.

You handed him his phone a beat later. “Here.”

“You didn’t delete it, did you?” He asked, beginning to check. “I told you looked—“ he stopped, and smiled when he saw the picture of you looking up to the morning sky wearing his hoodie.

“It’s still there,” you confirmed. “And it’s all yours. You can take as many pictures of me as you want, whenever you want—I don’t care.”

Your sudden change in sentiment came as a pleasant surprise, but he didn’t ask any questions.

-

I sit and listеn

Of course, you did everything in your power to try and help him. You were no telepath, no empath, just a simple mutant who could manipulate the flora and fauna. It was nothing that could help Charles. No amount of flowers or bright colors could bring back his own color.

So, you listened. You let him share every thought he wanted to share. You let him cry, yell, go silent with anger or sadness. You let him to whatever he needed, because Charles was broken.

You're so much older and wiser

Charles had always been the one to know what to say and do. He was the telepath, for crying out loud. He never needed help, but now that he did, how on earth were you supposed to help him? It felt impossible. It was like he had lived a million lives compared to your one and only. He knew everything and it felt like you knew nothing.

Lay the table with the fancy shit and watch you tolerate it

No matter what you did, it was worthless. Nothing you did helped. No amount of comfort, simple chores, cooking, nothing was helping. It was infuriating, but you tried not to blame Charles. This was not his fault. He was going through something unimaginable.

Even when you tried to just give him your love, it was so different from his usual self. He avoided your kisses, shied away from your touch, ignored your words of love and care.

"I want you to know I'm here, Charles," you'd say softly, reaching out physically and metaphorically.

He would turn his shoulder just before you could reach it. "I'm aware," he'd reply. "I have other things to attend to."

"What things?" you'd ask.

"Important things," was his reply every time.

Where's that man who'd throw blankets over my barbed wire?

Where was Charles? Anymore, you didn't know. At first, you told yourself he was in there. Your sweet, kind Charles. He was just hiding. He was scared, confused, hurt, angry.

Anymore, it was like he had vanished. Your Charles was no longer there. The Charles who had helped you hone your mutation, the Charles who taught you how to love it and yourself, the Charles who comforted you and helped you face your fears was now long gone. The Charles who remained was not the man you'd come to love.

Now I'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life

"Charles, please! I'm here, would you just let me in?" you cried out, clutching a fist over your heart as if you felt it physically break.

"You could never understand what I feel!" Charles yelled in reply. "You could never understand what I'm going through!"

You shook your head, "Maybe I won't! Maybe I never will, but I love you, Charles! I love you so much it hurts. This hurts! I just want to be a part of your world again!"

"My world?" Charles bitterly laughed. "You want no part in my world. My world is a cruel, unimaginable place that doesn't involve you." His words stung like venom. He didn't even react to what he said. He had meant it.

What would you do if I break free and leave us in ruins?

"What are you doing?" Charles asked, looking around the bedroom you'd once shared to see it empty of your belongings. A suitcase laid on your bed, your clothes folded neatly inside.

"I'm leaving," you answered. "your world no longer involves me."

Charles' eyes widened in shock, "That isn't what I--"

"Isn't it?" you retorted, folding another shirt into the suitcase with an odd sense of serenity.

"My darling," Charles' voice shook, "my love. Don't-- please, don't leave."

You glanced up to him, "You no longer need me, Charles. And I, you. It's better this way."

"It isn't!" Charles cried out, walking over to you with urgency in his steps. "Please, my love! Please, don't-- agh!" Charles doubled over, clutching his head. "No, no, please, not now! Please! Leave me alone!"

You quickly knelt beside him, grabbing him to hold him up. "Charles, look at me, you're okay," you gently shushed. "Hank! Hank, we need the serum! Hank!" you yelled into the empty hallways, hoping your old friend would come in a hurry.

"My darling," Charles sobbed, one hand clutching his head and the other your arm. "my one, my sweet, please, please don't leave me. Please! Oh, God!"

Tell me I've got it wrong somehow

Charles' head laid on your lap as you softly cascaded your fingers through his soft, brown hair. He was holding your legs tightly, fearing you'd get up and leave him any moment now. Your suitcase was forgotten on the floor, clothes spilled out from Charles' panic earlier. You didn't mind. They'd have to be put back in the dresser, anyways.

"I'm so sorry, my love." Charles muttered. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Do you love me?" you whispered, looking down into his eyes.

"More than anything in this world. You're the one thing keeping me going, the one thing that reminds me I'm alive." Charles replied. "I'm so sorry."

You nodded, "I know,"

I know my love should be celebrated, but you tolerate it

In the short days that passed, Charles tried. He did, he really, truly tried. He had his moments where he couldn't bear it, but more often than usual, his hand rested in yours. He'd press his cheek further into your lips when you'd kiss it, a shaky breath leaving his lips as his eyes closed as if he were trying to memorize and savor it like it was his last. He'd even seek you out in moments he needed grounding.

That was enough for you.

I sit and watch you

You were going to help Logan. Anything to get Raven home safely, even if that meant leaving Hank and Charles behind. Sitting on your ass was not for you.

"She won’t listen to me."

You and Logan turned around. You saw Hank turn around where he stood just a few paces behind you. Charles emerged from the building. It made your heart tingle.

"Even if I go with you, even if we find her, I can’t convince her to stop any more than I could convince her to stay." Charles continued as he walked closer.

"You won’t have to convince her. Magneto will."

You shared a weary look with the other two men. "Logan, as good of a plan that is, it's going to be insanely hard to get to Erik."

"Why not?" Logan nearly frowned. "Where is he?"

"Where he belongs." Charles replied. "Prison."

Your eyes locked with him, "Charles.."

"No, I know," Charles replied, walking up to you and grabbing your hands, interlacing them with his. "You don't need to speak, my love. I made up my mind. I am coming. If not for mutant kind.. at least Raven. My sister. And for you. You passion and will. I.. have let you down, time and time again. This time, I don't think I could live with myself if I did it again."

Heart leaping, you felt your face morph into one of sheer joy, "You're coming?" you whispered.

"I'm coming, darling."

Fingers against his temple, Charles slowly began to ease into her mind, so soft and slow that she wouldn't be able to notice a thing.

However, you did.

In fact, you knew something was up with the man before he'd even began to attempt to enter your mind. You could sense strong waves of something from the man. You'd kept him in the corner of your eye before he even set his sights on you. Determination, calculated, and dead set on you. Yeah, he was up to something.

For a moment, you thought maybe he was some creep devising a wicked plan to kidnap you or something. I mean, come on, a girl sitting alone in a bar surrounded by drunk people. But then, you felt his intentions. A mutant, no doubt, or maybe just a really good magician. Then, you saw him make a move, two fingers to his temple. Ah, mutant for sure. Must be some way to hone his powers. So, you closed yourself off entirely.

It was almost like you could feel his mind trying to invade your own. It felt like a stick poking mud. You didn't dare cause attention, so you sat there in great focus to keep him out. He was much stronger than you anticipated, making it a real challenge. Challenge was new. Not many mutants could pin you in a crowd, even alone. This man being able to spot you and attempt to use his own powers on you was unusual, but somehow, you could sense he meant no harm.

Charles' brows furrowed when he got nothing. Absolutely nothing, nada, zip. That couldn't be possible. He never failed. How could he have not sensed a single thing off of you?

Then, you made the mistake of darting your eyes to him. It was just a moment, a fraction of a second, but with how focused he was on you, he'd caught it.

He moved like an arrow speeding through the air at its target. He'd gotten up so fast from his seat that it nearly startled you. Before you could even think of getting up, he was sat across from you.

"Who are you?" Charles asked quickly.

"I think it's very rude to intrude in other people's minds," you replied, folding your arms over your chest. "Very invasive of you."

"You're a mutant," commented Charles as he eyed you.

A scoff left your mouth, "Rude thing to call a person."

"That's not what I--"

"I'm messing with you," you chuckled. "Yeah, I am. And so are you. Do you find some sick enjoyment learning everyone's deepest, darkest secrets?"

Charles let out a chuckle of his own, shaking his head while a hand ran through his hair. "I just merely read their active thoughts. I do nothing with it."

"Sure," you nodded, unconvinced. "What's your name?"

"I believe I asked you first at the beginning of this conversation." Charles replied, a small victorious smile on his face knowing he'd piqued your interest. You gave him your name, and he gave you his. Xavier, Charles. "How did you keep me out of your head?"

You shrugged, "I could sense you were going to do it before you even did it." His face didn't change, but you still added, "Don't feel so bummed. I anticipated it all before you even thought anything."

"You’re not a mind reader," Charles examined, "but you're certainly something similar."

"I can feel your emotions, anticipate your next moves." you answered. "Not the coolest thing, but it certainly makes me feel safer in bars where strange men try to read my mind."

Sheepishly, Charles let out a huff of air. "Sorry. I didn't intend to come off.. well, creepy."

"I don't think you're creepy anymore," you replied. "Plus, I've never met someone with mutations so similar to mine. I mean, we both sort of use our minds. That's something."

Charles nodded, "It is. I've never met anyone so unique yet similar to me. Tell me, when did you develop your mutation?"

"When I was maybe six or seven. From what I've learned, I guess that was a bit young. Gave me time to hone my skills." It really did take a while to get things under control. Feeling everyone's emotions within fifty feet was a lot to take in, especially when that range grew.

"Can I buy you another drink?" Charles asked suddenly. He was flirting, you could feel it. "And maybe, while we're exchanging things, you could drop those mental walls?"

You laughed, "And let you read my mind? Charles, I have a feeling you've never experienced good old heart to heart with another person. My gift to you is discovering how to learn without reading people's minds."

"So, a yes to that drink?" Charles smiled.

Being an avenger sometimes meant coming home with some pretty gruesome injuries. For those on the team who aren’t super powered or have a suit of metal, of course. It was just another stealth mission, like the hundreds you’d done before. Sneak in, get the file, sneak out. That was it. Well, that’s all it was supposed to be.

You and Bucky had gotten caught, and all hell broke loose. You two were a force to be reckoned with when you fought side by side, but you were outnumbered. The level of skill you both had didn’t matter. You knew you had at least a rib broken - if not more, your head was pounding and your ears ringing, but it wasn’t anything you hadn’t been through before. So you kept fighting. Until something lodged itself in your thigh, pulling an angry cry from your chest.

Your leg was already littered in scars, so the blade that made its home in your muscle had torn through thick scar tissue, causing it to hurt that much more.

You noticed Bucky's head whip in your direction as his eyes went wide. You landed an elbow into the neck of the man who stabbed you, slamming the heel of your boot to his temple to make sure he wasn’t gonna get back up. The kick sent a bolt of pain through your nerves and you bit into your cheek to keep the scream from leaving your throat, the taste of copper flooding your mouth.

You remembered stumbling over your own leg, it was going numb, before you landed on the concrete hallway of the hydra base. You tried pushing yourself back to your feet, but your arms trembled and gave out under you. The room was full of chaos but your vision was tunneling and it all became a blur as you flipped yourself to your back.

There was a large flash of white from the windows above you as you reached down to touch your leg, your fingers coming back coated in red. Your breaths were coming in short as the shock started to take over, the adrenaline quickly draining from you.

You could hear the sound of a repulsor before another flash of white blinded you. Dizziness filled your head as it lulled to the side. The faint shout of your name barely reached your ears as the darkness took over.

~~~

You could feel the faint pressure of hands on your body, on your leg. There was something resting over your mouth, a tiny stream of cold air hitting your lips. Your fingers twitched around cold metal and a hand was resting on the crown of your head as your eyes fluttered open.

Voices were shouting around you, but none of what they were saying was landing on your ears. As your eyes cracked open, your vision was still blurry but you could make out a figure next to you. Grey blue eyes rimmed with red were flitting over your body before they froze down at something out of your view.

Your leg was numb but you could feel the relief that the cold air brought, telling you that someone had removed your pant leg. You tried to squeeze your fingers around the familiar metal that encased your hand, getting the attention of the man sitting next to you.

“Bucky…” your voice was silent, but his eyes snapped back to your face, widening when they noticed you were awake.

“Hey, doll,” his words were laced in worry and your vision started tunneling again, shadows creeping in around the edges. Bucky leaned in close so you could hear him above all the commotion.

“You’re gonna be okay, sweets, just go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up,” he pulled away from your ear to place a tender kiss on your temple. He gave you a gentle smile and the darkness took over again.

~~~

The smell of rubbing alcohol filled your nose as a steady beeping filled your ears. The bed beneath you was firm and the sheets were rough on your skin, but there was a warmth around your legs that kept you comfortable.

You felt your nose twitch before you could stop it, and your eyes squinted open, letting the harsh white light through your lashes. As your vision adjusted to white room, you were able to notice the large windows that were open, and the dark clouds that littered the orange pink sky. You saw the tv mounted in the top corner across from you playing the news on mute. A shifting weight that caused your bed to dip drew your eyes to your left.

A mop of brown hair on top of folded arms rested on the edge of the mattress, next to your hip. The gentle rise and fall of his shoulders told he was asleep, something he didn’t do often, and a small smile crawled on your face, cracking your dry lips. You brushed your fingers along his elbow, just enough to feel the warmth of his skin.

His breath hitched and his head slowly raised, revealing tired eyes accompanied by dark circles. When his steel eyes met yours, they widened and a smile broke out over his parted lips.

“Hey, doll,” he whispered as he sat up straight and reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers together and rubbing circles over your knuckles with the pad of thumb, “thought we lost you there for a second.”

“I’m right here,” your voice was hoarse from unuse and your throat dry. He let your hand go, reaching for a cup of water. After helping you take a small sip and putting it back on the table next to your bed, he leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees.

“How’s your leg feeling?” You looked down to the blanket and lightly ran your hand over the injured muscle.

“Sore, but I can’t really feel any pain, not yet at least,” you smiled at him again but his face didn’t mirror it back. His lips dropped into a small frown as he took a small breath.

“Why have you never said anything?”

“What are you talking about?” Your brows knitted together as you watched him fiddle with the metal tips of his left fingers.

“Your leg…the scars…” Your heart dropped at his words. You didn’t even realize it was the same leg that had been stabbed, everything had happened so fast, how would you?

“Bucky - I - it’s not something I like to show off…” You looked down to your hands that were fiddling with the sheets, much like his own. The accident that permanently marked your leg wasn’t something you spent a lot of time talking about. The memory lived in the back of your mind, and it was typically under lock and key.

“You don’t have to show it off, sweetheart. But no one even knew.” He scooted his chair up and reached for your hand, “You don’t have to tell me what happened if you don’t want to, but I just want you to know that you shouldn’t be ashamed of them.” You snorted at that.

“You should take your own advice, Sarge,” you nodded to his left shoulder, the one he never let see the light of day unless he was alone. A soft chuckle rumbled from his chest.

“How about, we work on our scars together. How’s that sound?” You squeezed his hand, the smile returning to your face.

“Okay, together.”

He smiled and brought your knuckles to his lips, “Together.”

You say it so easily. A native tongue birthed from the affection reserved just for him. A million words to describe how he looks to you. You swear that you could pen essays. Novels. Holy scripture of all the terms he brings to your mind. Endless testaments to his splendor and still you’d find more to catalogue.

It makes his heart throb and swell, full up with emotion. An eager and almost guilty ache that he’s ransacking for the same kind of endearment and can’t settle on one.

Sugar; cutie pie; darling heart. Angel; kitten; gorgeous girl.

It’s all wrong.

You arch forward again, strain yourself to kiss his chin, grazing his pale throat on the way back down, needing him more urgently each passing minute. Your feet glide up the back of his legs, hands on his waist, pulling him into you, into the perfect, sweet place of you reserved just for him, too.

Steve buries his face into your neck, groaning. What is it, then? What’ll it be-- to make you feel the way he feels when you call him those sweet things?

My soul; my love; my moon and stars and all my days— my now, my tomorrow, my forever.

Ah. That’s all he needs.

“Mine,” he whispers finally. Raspy and slow and again when you gasp. Your nails dig into his back reflexively, thighs squeezing him tight. “Yeah,” he says,  “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s it.” 

A hard kiss that makes you whimper. Mine. Another to the line of your open jaw. Mine. Your throat. Your collar. Your chest. Mine. Mine. Mine.

You forget every word you’ve ever known except one:

A confused noise, a second of readjustment to the morning, to his touch, and then you stir and purr.

“Hey, you.” Voice like warm fire, even with disrupted use from the night.

“Love you,” he says, “Mm, never gonna get tired of waking up next to you.”

His fingers trail the back of your thighs, dancing a tickling path of meandering pirouettes that spark goosebumps over your arms.

A half-hearted cluck of your tongue gives way to a low moan and you shuffle, flush against his chest, bare bodies warm and warming hotter now. Your palm rubs his thigh, savoring the rougher feel of his hairs, contrasting your own skin, grasping his jutting hipbones, the strong plane of his abdomen.

Eager fingers slip between flesh. Velvet and surprisingly slick and wrapping around his digits like syrupy flower petals. “Baby girl,” Steve hums at the way you sigh. “Pretty girl.”

Shudders. You’re weak and boneless, slack and supple, pliant to his fingers and words. Little sweet-talker, America’s glorious knight in shining armor, you never knew he had such a clever tongue until he first slid it against yours in a fevered kiss. Now he knows all your weaknesses, knows every lock and how to pick them until you’re all the way opened up for him.

You whimper with his every stroke. Every plunge. His other hand runs itself up the nape of your neck, fingertips in your scalp and you arch like a cat for more. 

“So good,” Steve praises, “Tight around my fingers. All wet for me, honey.” 

“Uh— mhm.” Inarticulate noises. Woozy and wrapped in his affection.

“Let’s stay in bed, yeah?” Faster. Deeper. You groan. “All day. Let me make you feel good.” Two fingers. Three now. Your voice is little more than a choke. Knuckles pressed firmly, nudging harder, he curls and pulls, twists in confident turns. Knowing you. Knowing your body.

“Come, baby. Come for me, lover.”

With a tremble that vibrates all the way to into Steve’s soul, you obey. Into his cupped hand, gushing a little, and with some embarrassment that it happened all so quickly. Your lids flutter open and you bury your cheek into the pillow, contented and shy.

“God, Steve—what a way to wake up.”

Steve grins, kisses the blooming goosebumps up and down your neck, makes you whine again, sensitive and aching. “What do you say?” His clever tongue wonders sweetly, “How’s staying in bed all day sound?”

Breathing soft and slow with his face against your neck, chest to your chest. He’s folded and tucked against you, all his power and gravity nestled. A sapling in the shelter of your hold.

“Sweetheart...” 

He arches, brushing the tip of his nose against your chin, up to your own nose, mouth hovering but not quite touching, just feeling each other’s atmosphere. You cross the distance and kiss him, grip tighter now like he could collapse right into you and god, you wish he could. Let you keep every last bit of him forever.

You savor his lips, caressing the line of his cupid’s bow with your own, tongue flicking over the corners of his mouth, punctuating it chastely like a ritual. Bucky moans, hand on the plane of your back moving, fingers scrambling at your spine before he palms your thigh and slots you flush against his torso with one leg hooked around his waist.

It’s unspoken. He tugs at the waistband of your sleeping shorts before he changes his mind and his hands slip into the leg opening of the satin instead, keeping you right where you are. He rucks his own sweats down, just enough to spring himself free, shushing your whines, never letting you get too far, slipping upward, finding your heat.

“Eyes on me, baby.”

“Okay, Buck—ah—”

It’s hard to focus when he’s like this. Perfectly warm. Perfectly adoring. Perfectly fitted. So, so bright with the faintest pink bursting over his cheeks. His hips rock easily, stroking you in your favorite ways, angled to where every rub pulls out another gasp. Bucky’s breath soon matches yours in frequency and need.

“Love you, sweetheart. God, the things you do to me,” he rasps. “You make me feel so good.”

His eyes– pupils blown wide, half-hooded with lust and love– immobilize you, memorizing every inch of your face. He smiles. Christ, a smile that could launch a thousand ships. That could blind the whole world.

You curse quietly, blood pounding in your ears, your chest, your throat where Bucky latches on with his perfect mouth, marking you up with his spit and then his teeth until it’ll be obvious to everyone tomorrow what the two of you have been up to.

“Keep going—oh, don’t stop–“

“You want it like this, sweetheart?” He sucks on your collar, on your shoulder, taking every whimper and cry as a command to continue.

They flower all over your chest. Red and purple and swollen bright for everyone to see—just like him. And the very thought of him, of you, lost to it takes you over the edge, calling his name like you’re at an altar in supplication.

Bucky hitches himself deeper, grinding his hips, gripping your thigh, and fills you all the way up until the stars behind your eyes whites out your vision, making you stutter and keen and fall apart.

And then he stills, pulling you even closer, body slick with dew and starlight. The two of you lie in perfect symmetry, trembling in each other’s arms.

You were both three beers in, and you were already unsure of just how you’d both get home.

It wasn’t that you were too drunk to make the walk. Three watered-down beers from Josie’s may have been enough to leave you and Matt solidly tipsy, but drunk? Not a chance.

It wasn’t that either of you were angry, either, though Matt was certainly… on edge.

It had been a hard month for him, with most of it spent managing an incredibly stressful, complex legal case that had left him chained to his office whenever he wasn’t at the courthouse or out on patrol. The two of you had barely seen each other these past few weeks as a result, something that had left him almost as frustrated as his nightmare of a legal case. Matt was never in a good mood when his cases kept him away from you, and that was especially true when he was stressed, his thoughts only growing darker as the time without you wore on. Unfortunately, despite both your best attempts, your moments with him lately had been limited to those late-night hours when he dragged his weary body into bed with you—where he was often asleep within seconds of his head hitting his pillow and faster still when you drew him into your arms, his head sleepily cradled against your chest—and the early pre-dawn light when he woke you just long enough to kiss you softly and give you an apologetic goodbye before he headed into the office.

It wasn’t like this hadn’t happened before, of course, but normally he’d have had a ready supply of unlucky criminals to take his frustrations out on. Sadly, the Kitchen’s underworld had seemingly had a rare moment of conscience, or at least, they had for the past few weeks, leaving Matt without so much as a purse-snatcher to bloody his fists against. Hell, even Turk Barret had headed out to visit his grandma in Orlando for her Hobbit-inspired one-hundred-and-eleventh birthday party. All of which meant the Devil had been left hungry and unsatiated for weeks.

In more ways than one.

Even now that the case was over, the stress of it lingered in the air like a physical thing, a weight that only grew the longer you both sat there without speaking. Matt was practically a livewire next to you, radiating a crackling, electric tension that sang against your skin like the roiling energy of a coming storm. He’d barely said a word since he’d arrived, and you'd been with him long enough to know he needed some time to decompress next to you. Or that was… what you thought he was trying to do, anyway. If it was, he didn’t seem to be having much luck.

But none of that was why you were worried about the walk home, either.

No.

The real problem…

…was Matt’s new fucking coat.

Tonight was the first you’d seen of it since he’d bought the coat exactly one month ago just before his case had taken off. It hadn’t been cold enough then for him to wear it, but it was now, and thank God for that. He looked so good in it that you’d momentarily been struck speechless when he’d first stalked into the crowded bar, his cane clenched tightly in his hand, his jaw tight beneath the beard that had grown in over the past week or so. None of his other coats had been like this new one, this long line of dark, tailored fabric that hung to mid-thigh, the cut of it crisp and elegant. It was like it had been made just for him—and maybe it had been, for all you knew. The way it emphasized the deliciously broad line of his shoulders and the thickness of his powerful thighs, drawing your eye towards his slim waist and then down the endless length of him, had been a sight to behold and one you’d had no problem partaking in. He’d looked like something torn right out of a magazine… or maybe from within the massive box in your head labeled, ‘Formerly Unknown Matt Murdock Fantasies.’ You’d never been so grateful that Josie’s heating unit was out for repair: Matt hadn’t even bothered to take his coat off before sliding silently into the booth with you, quickly taking up the beer you’d already ordered for him without a word.

And that was where you’d been suffering for the past thirty-seven minutes and thirteen seconds. Not that you’d been counting.

You didn’t know what the fabric of his coat was made of—some soft sort of wool, if you had to guess—but right now, you didn’t much care because even while sitting, the fabric fell around him like a gift from God Herself, brushing against you whenever either of you dared to breathe. Oh, you might have been alright if Matt had been sitting a bit farther away. But tonight was not your night, since he’d decided to crowd you down to the end of the booth until he was practically on top of you, his thigh shoved hard against yours, the heavy, burning line of his body blatantly pressed up against you until you could barely move.

This, at least, was an energy you knew: one part possessive hunger after a long month away from you, and one part searching desperately for a way to come down. He was trying to regulate himself with the rhythm of your body in a way no one could call him on, even if it meant you wound up pinned bodily between him and the wall of the booth. On another day it would have been a good plan: your heart rate and your breathing often calmed him when little else could, and it was something you’d both made use of when he was stressed. But tonight? Tonight, you were having some problems of your own when it came to shit like breathing and heart rate. And it was all his fault for sitting there next to you looking like every last filthy dream you’d ever had of him fucking you in his office.

For God’s sake, he’d turned the collar up. Was it really your fault you were distracted by thoughts that were… maybe slightly less than chaste?

Like the ones involving you burying your nose against the soft collar of his coat as you slid one hand down to palm the line of his cock over his pants, if only to see just how far you could push him before he dragged you out of here.

He didn’t turn his head towards you, but you felt the burning weight of his focus settle over you all the same. When he spoke, his voice was low and thick with barely restrained tension, two words hissed from between grit teeth. “Stop it.”

“I’m not… not doing anything,” you said hoarsely. You carefully crossed your legs under the table, trying to relieve some of the throbbing ache that had settled between your thighs over the past thirty minutes. You were absolutely soaked despite your best efforts at self-control, and there wasn’t much you could do to hide it from his senses. Still, it was the principle of the thing. “I’m just sitting here with you. Drinking. I’m… I’m barely looking at you, not that you’d know.”

A droplet of sweat rolled lazily down his temple, winding its way lower and lower towards his throat. Your thoughts abruptly fragmented as you watched in hungry fascination, your body burning in a surge of longing.

Would he be mad if you leaned over to follow its path with your tongue?

His nostrils flared, his lips parted just enough that he could taste the air. Whatever he sensed was enough for his hand to tighten around his bottle until his scarred knuckles went white. You swore you saw something tick in the corner of his jaw as he ground his teeth together. “You’re not drinking. You’re fantasizing.”

“Objection—”

“Overruled. You’ve been doing it since I walked in.” He cocked his head towards you. His next breath in prompted the barest shiver from him. His restraint was clearly hanging by a single, tattered thread, one you were halfway tempted to start biting at. “Do you really want to do this here? Now?”

You cleared your throat. “I’m not—”

“I can smell you, sweetheart.” His voice had gone guttural and thick, a furious note resonating in the back of his throat. “How wet you are. I can taste it, hear it every time you squirm around, just how much you need me after three weeks of missing each other.” He drew in a slow, carefully controlled breath through his nose, his shaky exhale morphing into a low rumble of dark hunger that shot straight between your legs. “And you need to stop, because I swear to God, if I have to breathe in your pheromones for much longer, I’ll drag you into the bathroom and fuck you so hard you’ll need me to carry your limp body home.”

And just like that, everything in you went up in flames.

You tried, God you tried to swallow down the low moan that built in the back of your throat, your body clenching at the thought of Matt filling you in the way that only he could. You weren’t sure if he’d meant what he said as a threat or as an offer, but your body sure as hell treated it like the second. You just—you needed him inside you now, whether it was his fingers, his tongue, or his cock, whether that was here in the booth or in the bar bathroom shoved inside a filthy stall. But he clearly didn’t want to do this here, so you did your best to stay still, to barely move, barely breathe despite the need that was desperate to claw its way out of your throat. With anyone else, you’d likely have managed to keep your thoughts to yourself.

But not him.

He slammed his bottle down onto the table hard enough to rattle your own half-empty bottle, rising swiftly to his feet. He caught your arm in a vice-grip as he went, yanking you out of the booth with him, though you didn’t exactly resist. “Home. Now, Mrs. Murdock. I’m not getting kicked out.”

“Your fault for buying a coat that looks so good on you,” you said breathlessly as he threw a pair of folded bills onto the table. Neither of you dared mention the way his hands shook as he did, though whether it was from arousal or frustration, you weren’t quite sure. “And you grew your beard in. You know what that does to me. You’re lucky I didn’t maul you in the booth the second you sat down. I was incredibly polite.”

“Is ‘polite’ code for driving me up a fucking wall?” he grit out.

“You’re the lawyer. You tell me.”

It took everything in you not to pace restlessly as he unsnapped his cane in stiff motions. He tapped the end sharply against the grungy floor, just once, before taking your arm, the two of you starting quickly for the door. To everyone else around it would have looked like you were the one leading, your experienced step guiding him confidently through the crowd. It was something they’d seen many times before, something they wouldn’t question. But you both knew who was really in control tonight, his fingers subtly shifting and pressing as he steered you roughly out Josie’s front door and then up the street. You simply let him nudge you the way he wanted. You’d long since learned to let him take the wheel when he was like this.

After all, when had it ever not worked out for you?

You’d thought the fresh air might settle him some, the frosted kiss of late fall a blessed relief to your burning cheeks and his. But he only seemed to grow more frustrated that you both hadn’t spontaneously teleported to your front door, his steps picking up speed until you struggled to keep up with his furious stride. The sharp clack-clack of his cane was a constant drumbeat, one that matched the rapid clip of your eager heart—a heart that knew good and well what would happen the second you were both home and inside:

The slick glide of sweat-soaked skin against skin, the sharp bite of teeth against your throat as you clawed wildly at his back, and the powerful rhythm of his body atop yours as he fucked you six kinds of senseless, the way he always fucked you when he was wild and in need of release, in need of you. This was a Devil who’d been deprived of the taste of your body for far too long, and he had no intention of stopping until that hunger of his was fully sated. You’d be lucky to make it further than the hallway once you got home, and you certainly weren’t leaving the apartment this weekend.

Maybe he’d even leave the coat on for the first round.

The very thought of it made your breath hitch, your fingers curling as if you could already feel the softness of wool beneath your nails, a fresh flood of slick wetness building between your thighs.

Matt lurched to a stop so suddenly you almost lost your balance. You quickly glanced back the moment you stumbled to a halt, only to find Matt’s reddened lips parted on a shaky breath, his broad chest heaving like he’d been ridden hard and put away wet. In the murky, amber-rich glow of the streetlights, his red glasses gleamed like the embers of a smoldering bonfire, his hand on his cane gone white-knuckled. He cocked his head dangerously slowly, predatory hunger on full display, his dark coat snapping and around him in the late fall breeze. You had only a second to admire him before he seemed to make his decision. Before you could blink he yanked you sideways, dragging you into a nearby alley and behind a chest-high stack of cardboard boxes.

Oh fuck.

His cane clattered onto the pavement, flung down by an impatient hand.

Was he really going to—

Your back hit the cold brick wall of the empty alley. Then he was on you, seizing your face in his hands as his mouth slammed fiercely to yours.

Worth it.

There was no room here in the murky dark for anything like gentleness, for anything like soft, reverent touches. Instead, you clawed wildly at his back as if you could somehow bring him closer despite the way he’d already pinned you to the brick wall with his body, his grip on your face like steel as he forced your head back at an angle that granted him full access to your gasping mouth. That shared hunger only built with every desperate breath of yours that tangled with his, his tongue burning hot against yours as he snaked it hungrily past your parted lips with a heady rumble of satisfaction, the both of you parched and desperate to drink of the other’s mouth after a month of nothing but dry desert. This was a kiss that was all teeth and heat, open obscenity barely hidden by the long shadows of Hell’s Kitchen. You could barely keep up with him as he slid one hand down to your throat, winding his fingers possessively around straining tendons, claiming each sound for himself. All you could do was fist your hands in the rich fabric of his coat in response, grinding yourself desperately against the hard line of his cock trapped inside his jeans, a blatant invitation if there ever was one, one that had him groaning openly into your mouth.

If he wanted to fuck you here, you wouldn’t say no.

And he knew it.

His panted breaths gusted against your skin as his mouth slid away from yours, wet, open-mouthed kisses trailing down from your jaw toward the vulnerability of your throat, his beard a deliciously unfamiliar rasp against your skin. A needy whine left you at the scrape of his teeth over your pulse, your head rolling back further to give him room. He buried his face against your neck, inhaling deeply before he let out a loud groan, as if the scent of you left him in pure agony.

“Matt—”

“Tell me no, and I’ll wait until we’re home,” he breathed, each word a kiss against your skin.

“And if I say yes?” you whispered.

“Then I’m going to rip your pants down and fuck you right here in this alley,” he purred darkly, dragging his nose slowly up the line of your throat to your ear. He paused there a moment, as if relishing in the sound of your sharp inhale, before his lips curled, each syllable carefully enunciated. “Decide, sweetheart.”

He… really was considering this, wasn’t he? He’d fuck you here in the open air of the alley, no hesitation, a mere twenty feet away from a busy street, your writhing hidden only by shadows, a few boxes, and the angle of your bodies. All you had to do was say yes.

But would you?

You’d done this with him a few times before, letting him take you somewhere you might get caught, from church rooftops to bathroom stalls, from abandoned buildings to the quiet of his office. But this felt… different somehow, more dangerous. Traffic still rumbled by regularly, a mere stone’s throw away. It was late, the flow of foot traffic on the sidewalk much slower, but that meant nothing in New York City. There was always someone walking by, especially before the bars closed. The odds of getting caught were slim with his heightened senses—he’d sense someone coming long before they got to the alley—but the risk was still there.

And yet…

The hand he’d fisted in your shirt rose swiftly to your throat at your startled moan. He slid his thumb up under the hinge of your jaw, pushing your head back until you were forced to stare up at his face. The rich, wine-red lenses of his glasses caught the low light, a flash of burning embers and molten heat as the expression on his face darkened, sharp as the edge of a knife. He squeezed lightly at your throat in warning, just enough to make you suck in a heavy breath. As he did, his voice dropped into a low hiss. “Words. I’m not guessing with something like this. Yes or no?”

“Yes! Green light, please, Matt,” you gasped, doing your best to keep your voice down. “I can’t-I can’t wait until home, I need you—”

His hand dropped to your pants, as did yours, the two of you fumbling roughly at the button and zipper, your whole body throbbing in giddy anticipation. You weren’t sure who was clumsier about it—you or him—but the placement of both your hands was enough of a problem that he finally slapped your hands away with a low growl, giving him more room to work with the stubborn button, even as one of his hands rose to quickly yank off his glasses and shove them into his pocket. Which left your own hands conveniently free. And you knew exactly what to do with them to hurry things along.

His belt buckle turned out to be a lot easier to pop open than your button, and before he could figure out what you were up to, you snaked your hand down the front of his pants, inside his silk boxers, and took the burning, velvet-soft line of his hard cock in hand.

He let out a ragged, startled gasp against your throat. That gasp quickly morphed into a low, sinful moan as you started to stroke him hard and fast, his hips bucking instinctively into your touch. Your rhythm was a little rough, your range of motion limited by the confines of his jeans, but it was enough that he shot one hand out, bracing himself against the brick, his own hand faltering in distraction. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have said his legs had started to shake, his head falling to your shoulder to help muffle his gasps. Clearly the separation hadn’t affected just you.

God, you’d missed this.

You used your free hand to drag his head up away from your shoulder. It was your turn, then, to purr as you licked into his slack, panting mouth, tempting him until he mindlessly pursed his lips to suck at your tongue and swallow the offered taste of you down. You quickly altered the motions of your hand, making sure to drag the palm of your hand across the slick head of his cock with each upstroke, using your knowledge of his body against him as best you could. His eyes began to flutter, the color gone glassy and dark in pleasure as he fell into rhythm with you, moaning helplessly into your mouth. For just a moment, you almost, almost thought you’d knocked him off kilter just enough that he was about to pass you the reins. It wasn’t what you’d planned on when you’d started—you’d really only intended to give him a bit of a nudge, see if you couldn’t frustrate him a little further just to see what happened—but you were just as happy taking the lead. All you needed in the end was him, in whatever way that happened, slick wetness dripping down your thighs as your body called to him.

“Matty,” you breathed.

It was a nickname that you only used when you were the one in charge. And it was all that was needed to break the spell you’d cast over him.

Just like that, his eyes snapped open and he wrenched your hand up, slamming it back against the brick. He caught your other hand a half-second later, yanking it up until he’d pinned that one against the wall, too, and oh, oh, he was furious now at the trick you’d just pulled, his teeth bared in a snarl at your challenge. He cinched his hands tighter around your wrists, hauling them both up further until your back bowed, your body arched and helpless before him. “No,” he hissed. “No, I don’t think so. You think you can toy with me like that?”

“Fuck,” you whispered, trying not to squirm. Right, maybe you’d gotten in a little more trouble than you’d initially planned on. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“Let’s make one thing clear. I’m in control tonight. Not you. If I fuck you in this alley, I decide how,” he whispered hotly, leaning in slowly until his lips barely brushed yours, an intentional tease, this mere taste of what you wanted so very badly. He smelled like copper and clean sweat, like the beer he’d been drinking and faint cinnamon, the familiar scent almost enough to bring you to your knees. There was nothing gentle in the cant of his mouth, his eyes hard and unyielding as he tightened his grip on your wrists meaningfully. “If you touch me, it’s because I let you. Not that you deserve it. You’ve done nothing but torment me all night long. Good girls don’t do that, do they, sweetheart? What makes you think you’ve earned anything from me?”

“I…” You swallowed hard, trying to find your words as he slowly shifted your wrists around until he could take them both in one large hand, tight enough that you knew you’d have bruises tomorrow. That added distraction only made it harder to think past the desire that flowed molten and thick in your veins, but you knew this game. He expected an answer. “I… I haven’t earned it yet. Please, I want to be good for you. I’m sorry.”

“Are you? Because all night I’ve had to listen to you work yourself up next to me,” he growled, sweeping his free hand back down your body. He hummed a low, thoughtful noise when he reached your breast, cupping it through your shirt and bra. The sharp pinch of his fingers against your nipple was almost mean, the sensation just as much pain as pleasure, just as much punishment as reward. Yet still you arched into his hand with a stuttered gasp, your hips jolting helplessly in search of… of something, anything like friction. It had been far too long since he’d touched you like this, three weeks suddenly feeling like three months, like an endless eternity. He cocked his head coolly and without a trace of sympathy. “I could smell it the second you saw me, you know. What seeing me did to you. And even with all that time I gave you to get yourself under control, you couldn’t do it. You just got worse, and worse, and worse. All I wanted was a chance to pull myself together so we could make it home before I tore your clothes off, but you couldn’t even give me that, could you? Now listen to you.” Another pinch, this time one that prompted a soft, broken little mewl. “You’re ready to beg me to fuck you in an alley where anyone could see us. What a bad girl you’ve been tonight. What’s got you acting like this?”

“I-I just needed you so bad,” you mumbled, dropping your eyes as his hand drifted lower. He was dragging this out dangerously slowly considering you were both technically in the open and anyone could walk by, but he’d know better than you how much time you both had. Besides, the truth couldn’t hurt. “I missed you so much this month, and you-you looked so good when you walked in, and… I got impatient. Please, I can do better.”

“Can you? Because I’m not so sure.” He tipped his head almost mockingly, the barest traces of condescension lurking at the edges. But you could see it in the dark of his eyes: a flicker of sympathy at your response, followed by a familiar warmth. He leaned in to press his lips fondly to yours, breaking character just for a moment, his stance softening. “I missed you, too,” he whispered. “Safeword, sweetheart.”

“Los Angeles,” you said instantly, arching up eagerly when he nuzzled warmly at your cheek.

His low chuckle warmed you from head to toe, made you want to preen with pride that you’d pleased him. “Good girl.”

He lifted his head again and just like that, all hint of softness, all traces of warmth had vanished, the cold, stern mask back in place. Despite the darkness on his face, you couldn’t stop yourself from starting to shift around again, your body reminding you forcefully of just how aroused you still were despite the momentary pause. He rumbled a low sigh. “What am I going to do with you? Although… I suppose everyone deserves a second chance.”

His free hand fell away from your body, but instead of going for your pants like you’d hoped, he went for his own, tugging down his zipper. You let out a frustrated groan—you’d been hoping he was headed for the absolute agony between your thighs, a burning ache you were desperately in need of help with, even if it was just a few of his fingers working you over. Your protest was met with a swift rebuke: his teeth against your neck in a sharp nip, one that almost made you yelp. “Don’t think I won’t make you walk the rest of the way home with nothing,” he warned. “You know I will. Behave.”

Right, you could… wait for a just a little longer.

Or you would have, except that as he shifted you around, one of his thighs wound up shoved between yours. You were fairly certain it wasn’t intentional, though you couldn’t be sure. All you knew for sure was that it was there, broad and hard, and deliciously warm. One more nudge from him as he started to work his pants down, and…

Matt’s brows shot up in surprise, but then his lips curled into a wicked smirk. “Oh, my poor sweetheart,” he crooned, his words empty of anything like mercy as you gasped up towards the sky. The weight, the pressure of his thigh was barely there, but even that tiny bit of friction against your aching cunt was absolute heaven after so long with nothing. That pleasure only grew when he helpfully lifted his thigh higher, locking up the muscle so you had something to writhe against. And writhe you did, lungs heaving as you rocked your hips helplessly, grinding yourself roughly back and forth along his thigh. Each wave as you rode him sent you spiraling, the obscenity of fucking yourself against his thigh in an alley of all places making your cheeks burn. Yet it wasn’t enough to make you stop, not even close. Matt clucked his tongue, nuzzling against your flushed skin when you let out a soft whimper. “Maybe I really should forgive you if you’re so desperate that you can’t even wait for my cock. If we’d stayed in the bar, would you have begged for my fingers to fill that empty little cunt of yours?”

“Yes—”

“Would you have let me make you come right there in front of everyone, biting your lip so they wouldn’t hear?”

Oh god, you would have, you really would have, and your eyes rolled up as you writhed against his thigh without thinking, burning up in your own skin as you mindlessly dragged yourself up and down, over and over again like some sort of animal in heat, ripples of pleasure rolling up your spine at finally feeling true pressure and friction against your clit. Any hint of embarrassment was quickly washed away, lost to the fire you’d so willingly fed, the scent of kerosene on your hands and a match still clutched between your fingers, all as your Devil filled your ears with absolute sin.

“Tell me,” he growled, letting go of your hands to catch your chin, forcing your eyes back to him.

“Yes!” You swallowed hard, trying to arch your body, opening yourself to him all as you kept your hands where he’d left them. “Yes, God, I would have. Please, Matt, I need you, please, please fuck me!”

There was a quiet, victorious hiss in your ear. You barely noticed the jangle of his belt as he shoved his jeans down just far enough to free his cock to the cool air, taking himself in hand. His cock was dangerously hard, the head flushed dark and slick as he gave himself a few pumps, choking on a rough groan. It was something that normally would have had you reaching for him, desperate to help, but you didn’t dare touch him this time, not without his permission. You’d learned your lesson. After a moment, he started on your pants, almost tearing the fabric in his haste. His hands may have been shaking again, but this time, you knew why. “Don’t worry,” he said breathlessly. “I’ll give you what you need. I always do. Don’t I? Answer me.”

“Always, you always do,” you said hoarsely. Still, even knowing what was coming you almost sobbed when he dropped his thigh away, the loss something that you felt in the very heart of you. He made up for it as quickly as he could, yanking your pants and underwear down far enough that you could kick one leg free. You were even more grateful you’d both picked this alley now, the cardboard boxes hiding the fabric tangled around one ankle, the one closest to the street. Then he caught your other leg, lifting it higher and higher before smirking and hooking it around his waist—

—under his coat.

The realization hit you just as he sealed his hand tightly over your mouth, lined himself up, and snapped his hips forward, sheathing himself inside you in one swift thrust.

The sudden sensation of fullness without warning tore a cry from your throat, only just muffled by the palm of his hand. The force of it was enough to steal the air from your lungs, and you clawed wildly at his back without thought, halfway to mindless. He didn’t seem bothered by you touching him anymore since it was still clear who was in control—”If you touch me, it’s because I let you.” Then again, maybe he just didn’t notice. He breathed a choked, ragged groan into your ear, just as lost in the pleasure of finally finding his way back inside your body as you were.

One breath was all the time he gave you to adjust. Then he bared his teeth, braced one hand against the wall, and began to fuck into you at a brutal pace. And the sweet, delicious burn of it only added to your mounting pleasure.

The song of the city was quickly drowned out in your ears by a far better music. Matt’s quiet snarls and filthy grunts were paired with the lewd slap of skin on skin, with your muffled whines and ecstatic moans, the softness of his wool coat brushing against your thighs, your ass, your sweat-soaked skin with each wild thrust. Every last inch of you had gone pliant beneath his hands, submissive and ready to accept whatever he gave, let him take whatever he wanted. Because this, this was what you’d needed more than anything: the thickness of his cock filling your needy cunt at the apex of each vicious thrust, the feel of him back where he belonged, something to tide you over until you both managed to make it home where he could take you apart piece by piece for hours, for days.

This wouldn’t, couldn’t last long for all that he’d dragged things out at the start of this. You’d be caught if either of you spent more than a few minutes doing this, spotted by a wandering pedestrian or a curious driver. He knew it as well as you did based on the way he quickly adjusted his angle, making sure to hit that spot inside you with every brutal snap of his hips, over and over again until you were seeing stars. It was only the wall that kept him from throwing you loose, your head thrown back against the brick as you struggled to hold onto him, the texture of soft wool beneath your nails and the scent of him and sex and fire hanging in the air around you like the best kind of aphrodisiac.

“This is what you needed, isn’t it?” he grunted roughly between rapid thrusts, never faltering in his rhythm. “Needed me to-to fuck you right here. Couldn’t get home without me filling you up, could you?”

“I couldn’t!” you panted, as he shifted his hand from sealing your mouth to grasping your chin and rolling your head up. The rough scrape of his beard against your throat made your toes curl, your back arching when you felt him catch your skin sharply between his teeth and suck, determined to leave a mark. You really weren’t going to last long, not after almost a month without anything like this. “Oh god, it-it was your coat, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“All this for a coat.” He huffed something that might have been a laugh, though it was hard to tell. He changed the angle of his hand again, lifting his head to brush his lips to your temple. “Open your mouth. Now.”

You parted your lips, taking in his thumb eagerly into the warm cavern of your mouth when he shifted to offer it. You laved at it, sucking and working your tongue against it at his like you might his cock. It was enough to drag out a rough moan from him, the rhythm of his body briefly stuttering. He drew it back after a moment before dropping his hand, his voice thick with heat. “Is this going to happen every time I wear this coat? I’m not sure you’d live through the winter, sweetheart.”

The first brush of his thumb, rough but knowing, set your nerves alight. You couldn’t help but scrabble at him in instinct as your mouth fell slack, your body jerking as he kept up his rhythm. He wrenched your leg higher, and the next thrust hit just right when paired with a grind of his thumb, your back bowing.

“God, Matt, I’m-I’m—

“Barely three minutes in and you’re already about to come,” he purred, only tormenting you further as he flicked your clit with his thumb. Your breath quickly grew stuttered, your body beginning to tighten around him in growing waves. You were so wet now that you’d swear the people the next block over could hear the obscene, slick noises of his cock filling you. “I wonder how many times I can make you come in one night. I know the record’s six, but maybe we’ll try for seven tonight. What do you think?”

You thought you were going to die, but damn, what a way to go.

Abruptly, he stilled mid-thrust, his cock still halfway inside you. He cocked his head towards the street, his brow furrowing.

Shit.

Someone was coming.

You expected him to pull back, or maybe push you down behind the boxes. He’d have a far easier time hiding what he was doing than you, considering he could simply close up his coat while your pants were still down around one ankle.

He did neither. Instead, he snarled softly and thrust up, burying himself as deeply as he could.

You choked on a breath, your cry just barely swallowed down. “Matt, what—”

“Quiet,” he grit out, fiddling with the edges of his coat and adjusting your body. But even that much motion left you burning, your eyes rolling back at the unintentional, delicious grind against that spot inside you. You swore you could feel every inch of him, every last inch of his cock cradled inside you. No matter how much he might pretend otherwise, that feeling must have been just as good for him, his voice going ragged and hoarse, his breath shaky. “Don’t move.”

“But—”

“I told you I’d take care of you. Now don’t move!”

It took everything in you to do as he said, your body locked up and rigid as he finally angled himself the way he wanted, his coat falling just right.

He was hiding what you were doing you with his coat.

The first wave of a small crowd began to move past the alley entrance, drunken laughs and friendly shouts echoing out as they staggered past. None of them so much as glanced your way. But even if they had, all they’d have seen around the boxes and Matt’s coat was Matt standing close to you, his mouth by your ear as if he were telling you the best kind of secret. No one would know he was buried so deeply inside you that you swore you could feel him in your throat, as long as you played this just right.

A droplet of sweat rolled down your temple, your cheeks burning. Still you didn’t move. You were determined to do what Matt had ordered, no matter how close you were to coming. Even so, your orgasm crept ever closer, hovering at the edge of your fingertips, tendrils of heat spiraling up from where your body connected to his.

Matt tilted his head slowly, nuzzling at your cheek with a smirk before he dipped his lips towards your ear. And as he did…

…he rocked his hips the slightest bit, intentionally grinding his cock inside you. And that grind was paired with a lazy loop of his thumb across your clit, the motion smooth but firm, and somehow mocking.

You bit your lip to swallow down the sound you almost made, a flash of copper spilling across your tongue. Shit, he was really going to just—

“Do you want to be my good girl again?” he murmured. He was still playing at being unaffected, but with him seated so deeply inside you, you could feel what this game was doing to him. Reckless. Risky. His chest was heaving against yours, his heart racing so fiercely you could feel it against your skin. Yet none of that mattered when he was the one in control. “Yes, or no?”

“Yes,” you whispered.

The first wave of the crowd had finally moved past, but a second surge only brought more potential onlookers. None of them looked, either, or you didn’t… think they did, anyway. It was hard to tell, though, since your eyes had started fluttering every time Matt rocked into you, working you higher with every breath. Over and over again he ground his cock relentlessly inside you in small, firm movements, your fingers digging tighter into his coat. He shifted the angle of his hand until he could carefully pinch your clit between two fingers, making you mewl softly.

“Then you’re going to come when I tell you to,” he said roughly, and the tone of his voice made it clear it was an order, one you were expected to follow. “And you’re not going to make a sound. We wouldn’t want anyone to know what we’re doing, would we?”

But… how were you supposed to be quiet when he was doing this?

“I-I don’t know if I—”

“Poor thing. Here, I’ll help you.” He slid his hand around to cup the back of your head, bringing your face closer until he settled it against his shoulder in offering, your face pressed into the fabric of his coat. “Now, get ready. Remember: nice and quiet.”

Oh god.

You buried your face deeper against the dark wool, choking down a frantic moan as his fingers started to rapidly circle your clit. His cock began to pick up speed, though he kept the rhythm subtle, barely retreating at all before sliding smoothly back in. To anyone on the street, with Matt’s hand cradling the back of your head and your face buried against his neck, it would look like he was comforting you. Comforting you as if he wasn’t the one doing this to you, your nose filled with the scent of him where it had soaked into the collar of his coat.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, your thighs shaking. God, it was right there, that crest, that frothing wave threatening to sweep you under. You didn’t stand a chance now that you had him inside you, his scent swirling around you and the soft wool beneath your nails, your mouth. “Matt, Matt, Matt!”

“Be my good girl,” he growled, “and come for me. Now.”

His light slap against your clit, combined with a sudden hard thrust during a short break in the crowd, was more than enough to push you over the edge.

You sank your teeth deeply into the collar of his coat, your eyes snapping shut as you came right there on your feet, his cock buried deep inside you. You only just managed to keep yourself quiet, not a sound leaving you safe for a choked gasp that was thankfully muffled by his coat. With every wave you had to swallow down another moan or gasp, your cunt clenching around his cock over and over as if you were trying to draw him in deeper, the world around you gone hazy beneath a tide of roiling pleasure. It was only the way he’d pinned you to the wall with his hips that kept you upright, your fingers fisting so hard in his coat you were surprised you didn’t feel something tear.

There was a quiet, ragged grunt in your ear as he came with you, a liquid heat spreading outwards as he spilled himself inside you. Yet even as he came, he barely moved, his control iron-clad, the rapid racing of his heart and his stilted breaths the only outward signs he’d come at all. He kept one hand cradling the back of your head, rocking you gently as if comforting you, all while out of sight his fingers continued to rub firmly at your clit to drag your orgasm out for the both of you. When you finally managed to glance up, his dark eyes had fallen closed, his reddened lips flushed and slightly parted as he savored the taste of your shared orgasms in the air.

“God,” you panted breathlessly against his shoulder, your leg trembling as he gently unhooked it from his waist and lowered it to the ground. He nuzzled warmly at your hair, chuckling as he kneaded at your hip to help work out any kinks in the muscle. The crowd seemed to have finally passed the both of you by, which was fortunate since you’d need some help getting your pants back on. You were understandably a little wobbly. “I can’t believe we did that.”

“Well, I will say one thing, Mrs. Murdock.”

“What’s that, Mr. Murdock?”